


So Nehm Ich Was Noch Übrig Ist

by lo_lolita



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Biting, Blood, Blood As Lube, Bottom C. C. Tinsley, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Extremely Dubious Consent, M/M, Mortician!Tinsley, Necrophilia, Porn With Very Little Plot, Top Ricky Goldsworth, Vampire!Ricky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:41:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26843824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lo_lolita/pseuds/lo_lolita
Summary: The corpse, of course, continues not to move or respond.At least not where Tinsley can see it.
Relationships: Ricky Goldsworth/C. C. Tinsley
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	So Nehm Ich Was Noch Übrig Ist

**Author's Note:**

> More in-depth content warning regarding the consent & necrophilia tags in the end notes. Please be aware that they contain spoilers.
> 
> Disclaimer: I know damn well that absolutely nothing I wrote in this fic works that way in real life. I know that morgues don't work that way. I know blood cannot be used as lube. I do not care. It's fake. It's set in a universe where goddamn vampires exist. It doesn't matter.
> 
> Titled after lyrics from the song Heirate Mich by Rammstein. Loosely translates to "so I'll take what remains". Unbeta'd.

Tinsley's got a hand wrapped around his cock and two fingers in a pretty corpse's bloodied mouth when the corpse jolts awake, bites him, and sits bolt upright.

Record scratch. Freeze frame.

You're probably wondering how he ended up in this situation.

Look, it's not like Tinsley makes a habit of molesting corpses. It's just — extenuating circumstances. Ricardo Goldsworth is dropped off at the morgue at exactly 7:36 PM on a Friday, near the tail end of Tinsley's shift. Single gunshot wound to the head. It was a handgun, and thankfully, that means no bits of bone and brain matter to pick through; just a single, clean bullet wound that went in one temple and out the other. Goldsworth had been a person of interest to the police for quite some time, the cop Tinsley speaks to explains. He was supposedly associated with the mafia in some way or another. Tinsley isn't paying much attention, though, because Goldsworth's corpse is far more interesting.

He's pretty, strangely malleable — no rigor mortis to speak of — and far too warm for having died three hours ago. And did Tinsley mention pretty? The pallor of death hasn't quite settled in, somehow, and even the heavy blood loss hasn't seemed to drain Goldsworth's face of color.

Not that it makes anything better, but it's not like Tinsley's _proud_ of the way his gaze keeps lingering on Goldsworth's bloodied lips. He's never inappropriately touched any corpse that's crossed his examination table, but working as a coroner for as long as he has can lead to some... Interesting inclinations over time, to say the least. So, like, maybe he's thought about it before. But it's always been strictly in the context of fantasy, not something he gave serious consideration to.

Not until Mr. Goldsworth.

Once Tinsley is alone in the morgue with the corpse, he finds himself lingering near it long after he's done with his preliminary examination, studying Goldsworth's face with a careful eye. He doesn't understand why his external body temperature has yet to drop below a steady 94 degrees. The time of death was estimated to be nearly four hours ago; Goldsworth should be starting to stiffen, should be cold to the touch, but he's... Warm, and his joints are loose and move easily. Delicately, Tinsley checks if the corpse's bowels released, as they generally do when one dies — no dice there, either.

If Tinsley didn't know better, if he didn't see the clear gunshot wound through the man's head, he'd think Goldsworth was just taking a nap.

Slightly paranoid, Tinsley takes Goldsworth's wrist in his gloved hand and feels for a pulse. There's nothing, of course. Tinsley clears his throat and unbuttons the top several buttons of Goldsworth's expensive-looking, blood-soaked shirt, pushing each half aside to bare his chest. Feeling a little silly, Tinsley even finds his infrequently-used stethoscope and checks Ricky's chest for a heartbeat, too.

Nothing.

"Well, you're definitely dead," Tinsley tells the corpse. The corpse does not reply, further proving his point. "Maybe you didn't die right away? I guess it's possible they just assumed... Maybe you died on the way over and that's why..." Tinsley trails off and puts his hands on his hips. His gaze lingers on the exposed golden flesh of Goldsworth's chest.

He doesn't even have an excuse to be standing over the body right now, not really. He probably won't even be the one who performs the autopsy; it'll most likely be scheduled for Saturday morning, and Tinsley works weekday evenings. By all counts, he should be zipping the body bag up and putting it away in the cooler for someone else to deal with later.

Tinsley drags the zipper of the body bag down all the way to Goldsworth's knees, instead. He's already half-hard in his slacks just from _looking_ ; he doesn't know if he could bear to touch. He clenches his fist for a moment, then takes a deep breath and runs his hand up the corpse's still-warm inner thigh. Tinsley inhales sharply as he reaches Goldsworth's crotch, and he glances to the man's face, as if to reassure himself he's really dead.

Slowly, Tinsley squeezes the corpse's limp cock through his slacks. He holds his breath, shuffling closer to the exam table so he can gently, carefully press his hips forward against the edge of it. Tinsley exhales sharply at the contact, even though the surface is hard and unforgiving.

"I swear I've never done this before," Tinsley mutters, pushing Goldsworth's shirt open a little further and tracing a gloves fingertip over one of his nipples. "You're just — so fucking pretty. And warm. How are you so warm? Shit, you feel like you're alive." He huffs out a breathless laugh, finally caving and undoing his belt. "Fuck it. I'm already losing my mind, and it's not like you care, huh?"

The corpse, of course, continues not to move or respond.

At least not where Tinsley can see it.

Tinsley shoves his pants down around his thighs and gets a hand around his cock. He hisses through his teeth when he realizes how hard he's gotten, and how quickly. He can't touch too much, he knows whoever performs the autopsy later will notice, but — he touches where the skin and clothes are free of blood, mostly Goldsworth's thighs and nipples. He wishes he could strip him nude, could get between those warm thighs and feel just how warm he is inside — he's going to have to see about getting control of the autopsy in the morning, after all. Make up something about trading shifts.

Tinsley's fingers wander to Goldsworth's mouth, wondering if it's still wet and hot like it would be were he alive. He doubts it, but all the same, he pushes two fingers inside —

And then several things happen all at once.

Tinsley feels a hot puff of breath on his hand. He notices the corpse's chest rise and fall, just barely. Goldsworth's eyes open, and his teeth bite down on Tinsley's fingers.

Tinsley shrieks and stumbles back, tripping over his undone slacks and falling to his bare ass on the ground. Goldsworth sits bolt upright, clutching at his head and groaning. Now that Tinsley's looking, he watches in morbid fascination and dawning horror as the exit wound on Goldsworth's temple slowly closes itself up.

"What the fuck," Goldsworth hisses, voice hoarse, "Were you doing to my body?" He looks down at Tinsley, scowling, and pointedly drags his gaze down to Tinsley's lap.

Ah.

Tinsley scrambles to tuck himself back into his pants and underwear as quickly as he can, face bright pink. He's so, so fucked. But also — what the hell? "I — I wasn't — I can explain," Tinsley says desperately.

Goldsworth stares at him, waiting.

"... I can't explain," Tinsley says finally, looking away. "How..."

"Vampire," Goldsworth explains succinctly, pulling his legs out of the body bag and swinging them over the side of the exam table.

"Of course," Tinsley says faintly. "Right. Sure. I'm — this is a dream, right?"

Goldsworth gets up on unsteady legs and crowds into Tinsley's space, crouching in front of him where he's sitting with his knees drawn up to his chest on the floor. His nearly-black eyes flick over Tinsley's face with mild interest, and then he smiles. There's blood on his teeth.

"You'll do," Goldsworth says, and his canines drop down into long, sharp points. Tinsley opens his mouth as if to say something, but then Goldsworth shoves him onto his back with superhuman strength and climbs on top of him. Before Tinsley can even begin to process what's happening, Goldsworth gets a handful of hair, wrenches his head to the side, and bites into his neck.

It hurts for a split second, and then it feels so good that Tinsley hears himself moan aloud, one still-gloved hand pushing into Goldsworth's hair. He gets hard again so quickly it makes him lightheaded.

"Please," Tinsley gasps a few seconds too late, trying to work through the haze of pleasure that's clouding his judgment. "Please don't kill me, I—"

Goldsworth pulls back, dragging his tongue over the twin puncture wounds and licking his lips. There's blood all over his face now; Tinsley thinks it just makes him even more beautiful. "And waste that big dick? Nah. _I'm_ not a necrophiliac," he smirks.

Tinsley blushes, avoiding Goldsworth's eyes. "You're — you're not upset?"

Goldsworth hums, tilting his head. He sits up, still kneeling between Tinsley's legs, and trails his hands down Tinsley's torso. He flicks Tinsley's ID badge. "Well, _Doctor Tinsley_ , you said nice things. You're quite the flatterer. And you're cute — I suppose I didn't mind. I've woken up in worse positions." He finds Tinsley's belt buckle and tugs it open again, then wastes no time in divesting Tinsley of his slacks and underwear completely.

"I'm going to bite you again," Goldsworth tells him, inching down so his head is between Tinsley's legs, instead. He trails his lips along the inside of Tinsley's thigh, leaving a streak of blood behind. Finally, though, Goldsworth pushes his legs open a little more so he can sink his teeth as near the femoral artery as he can get without making Tinsley bleed out.

"Fuck," Tinsley gasps, scrambling to finally peel off his vinyl gloves. He works one hand back into Goldsworth's hair, the other one gripping tightly at the leg of the exam table beside them. Goldsworth laps up the blood fervently at first, but as the bleeding slows, so does he. He eventually pulls back a little, dragging his fingers through the blood sluggishly leaking from Tinsley's wound.

"What are you—" Tinsley's question is answered before he can get it out; Goldsworth pushes a finger inside of him just a little roughly. Tinsley lets out a sharp breath and drops his head back against the floor, dazed with confusion and lust and blood loss all at once. "Well. Alright."

Goldsworth laughs, pushing a second finger in alongside the first. He laps at the wound in Tinsley's thigh lazily, occasionally turning his head to give Tinsley's cock a little kitten lick, just to tease. Tinsley whines and rocks down against Goldsworth's fingers, completely giving up on trying to make sense of whatever the hell is happening. If this is a dream, it's the best one he thinks he's ever had.

"Adorable," Goldsworth croons, mocking. "I was afraid you might not be able to get it up if I was breathing."

"I'm not a—" Tinsley whines at a particularly clever twist of Goldsworth's wrist — "Not a necrophiliac. It was just you. You're the only one I ever..."

"I'm flattered," Goldsworth drawls, pulling out his fingers. He sits up and undoes his own slacks, now, pushing them down his thighs along with his underwear. "But it was still necrophilia." He squeezes Tinsley's thigh right over his bite, which oozes blood all over his hand. Tinsley whimpers; without Goldsworth's teeth involved, it just hurts like normal, but apparently Tinsley doesn't mind. Enjoys it, even.

He's learning all sorts of things about himself tonight.

Like how the sight of Goldsworth coating his cock with Tinsley's blood makes his mouth water, makes him want to get his mouth around it — but Goldsworth has other plans, and Tinsley is more than game for the way Goldsworth spreads his legs wide and teases his cock against Tinsley's hole.

"Say it," Goldsworth orders, and Tinsley blinks.

"... Huh?" Tinsley manages. Eloquent.

"Admit you're a necrophiliac," Goldsworth purrs, the head of his cock catching just barely on the rim of Tinsley's hole as he continues to tease. Tinsley whines and throws a forearm over his eyes, but Goldsworth grabs him by the wrist and pins his hand to the ground beside his head, instead. "Say it," Goldsworth repeats, and Tinsley notices a goldish glint to his eyes for the first time.

"I'm a — a fucking necrophiliac, fine, okay," Tinsley blurts, face red. "Please, Mr. Goldsworth, I—"

"You can call me Ricky, baby," Goldsworth says with another sharp-toothed grin, and then he's starting to push inside, just a little too quick and rough to be comfortable. Tinsley wouldn't have it any other way.

Goldsworth doesn't loosen his grip on Tinsley's wrist as he drives into him. His free hand has a bruising grip on Tinsley's thigh, and he mouths wetly at the inside of Tinsley's knee, the scrape of his teeth feeling like a taunt more than a threat.

"Bite me," Tinsley begs shamelessly, and Goldsworth smirks.

"If I take too much, you'll pass out," Goldsworth warns.

"Don't care. Please," Tinsley continues to plead, stubborn. Goldsworth laughs this time, breathless and low. He obliges, sinking his teeth just above the bend of Tinsley's knee as he finally starts to thrust in earnest.

The new wound bleeds more slowly than the bigger veins had, and Goldsworth has to suck at it a little to get the blood flowing. That same overwhelming pleasure from before washes over Tinsley in a wave, and he cries out wordlessly, screwing his eyes shut. Goldsworth is concentrating so hard that he's ceased breathing, which should probably be concerning, but Tinsley's pretty sure he's technically dead anyway, which —

Which is a thought that sends him over the edge so abruptly, completely untouched, that his cry is one of surprise as well as of pleasure.

Goldsworth seems to double his efforts in response, and the stimulation to Tinsley's prostate edges on painful — but then Goldsworth is coming, too, almost growling deep in his chest in an animalistic way that makes Tinsley shiver. He pulls out and sits back; Tinsley sits up a little, looking down just in time to see the messy mix of blood and cum that leaks out of his ass. It should turn his stomach, but — well. It's almost kind of pretty.

"You should probably get some orange juice, or something," Goldsworth advises as he gets to his feet, pulling up his pants and tucking his dick away again. Tinsley blinks up at him as the dizziness washes over him again, and Goldsworth chuckles. "I hope I get you again the next time I die. You're fun." He pats Tinsley's cheek, then steps over him on his way out of the morgue.

"What the hell am I gonna tell the police?" Tinsley finally finds the words to ask. Goldsworth pauses in the doorway and laughs again.

"I'm sure you'll think of something," he assures him. "Goodnight, doctor. Take some iron supplements."

Tinsley stares after him for several long moments before slowly dragging himself to his feet. He tracks down his pants and pulls them back on, then turns slowly to look around the room. Tinsley catches a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror; he's quite pale and covered in smudged blood, and looks exactly like he just got ravaged on the floor of his workplace.

Which is a morgue.

Fucking hell.

Tinsley sighs and runs a hand through his hair. There's nothing for it; all he can do is start to clean up.

There's going to be so much fucking paperwork in the morning.

**Author's Note:**

> The 'extremely dubious consent' tag is due to... Well. Necrophilia. Ricky is technically (un)alive and aware during it, but Tinsley doesn't know. Ricky can't do anything about what Tinsley is doing to him, but he later admits he didn't really mind, anyway. I selected that I chose not to use archive warnings because I wasn't sure if I should add a noncon tag or not.
> 
> The necrophilia does not go beyond Tinsley touching Ricky's "corpse" while masturbating.


End file.
